


Five In The Morning

by Bubosi



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Biting, F/M, Gender-Neutral Runner Five, Kind of implied 5am?, No Spoilers, Not the zombie kind, Selectively Mute Runner Five, it's supposed to be funny but who knows??, what even is humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 21:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13912707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubosi/pseuds/Bubosi
Summary: Everyone has their secrets, especially Simon Lauchlan.Some are dangerous, some are precious. Some are kinky.(Based on a prompt/post by high5runner5 on Tumblr - rated for Implications but otherwise not harmful to your immortal soul I swear, oh gosh)





	Five In The Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Just a wee response to a prompt because why do work or write more for my ongoing fic when I could write this nonsense instead?
> 
> It's not proofread but it is what it is. And what it is is only mild sin.
> 
> (On reflection, both of the things I've posted so far have been bite-themed. Perhaps that requires examination.)

Someone in the runners’ barracks was snoring. Not in either of the rooms adjacent to Runner Five’s, but it was definitely loud enough to be on the same floor. Five stared into the gloom above where they lay on their back, sweat cooling on their skin with covers pushed down to their midsection, and tried to judge what time it was by how little of the ceiling they could see.

It was so early it was almost late, but only almost, Five decided. The dark was on the grey side, meaning dawn was closer than sunset. A heavy quiet lived in this hour, not silence but the intrusive un-noise of many people breathing slowly and deeply as they slept, disturbed only by the snoring.

The grating, constant snoring, which was not getting any quieter. Runner Five didn’t know how they’d never noticed it before, how they’d never been kept awake by whoever this was on previous nights they’d been thrown out of sleep. Maybe it was a new runner, or perhaps there was a sickness going around. Five prayed this was a one-time thing. They spent too much time trying to get back to sleep for this to become a regular problem. Because, of course, they’d be getting no more sleep tonight.

It was putting their teeth on edge. The snoring wasn’t what had woken them up but it wasn’t about to let them roll over and catch some more shuteye any time soon.

“Hell,” Five whispered to the empty room, their voice an alien thing, stuck with sleep. There was nothing else for it.

Runner Five had swung themselves upright out of bed and pulled on their running shorts before they remembered making a conscious decision to do so. They had a couple of runs scheduled later in the day which they would change into something more protective for, but the loose nylon would do for a wake-up jog to keep them busy. It was a long time yet until breakfast and they needed to get out of the barracks before they were driven to track down the sleep-thief and see how they liked being kept awake before sunrise.

Slipping from their room, Five tiptoed down the hall in their socks, pulling a shirt over their head. The sooner they were out in the cold, they thought, the better they would feel. More awake, at least. They hated the muggy quality that hung on their thoughts when they were launched right out of deep sleep. It felt like being drunk, only without the pleasant buzz, or the lightness. Just a sluggishness and a lack of control.

Thoughts Five wanted not to think rose to the surface of their mind when they felt like this, when they weren’t able to control where their mind wandered. Thoughts and memories. They shook their head to clear it and caught a glimpse of someone through the empty doorway that opened the runners’ common room out into the hallway.

Sara was reclined in one of the armchairs, a book held closed with her thumb marking her page, one leg crossed over the other. Runner Five stopped short, unable to tell whether Sara was awake or not. Her face was calm and relaxed but not at all slack despite the fact her head was upright, resting against the back of the chair. She had none of the usual vulnerableness people exuded when they slept. Just calm. Serene, but somehow alert.

Even if she _was_ asleep, Runner Five had no doubt that if they made a move towards her Sara’s eyes would snap open as if she’d been aware the whole time.

It felt weird watching their friend maybe-sleep, but after a few heartbeats Five decided they either hadn’t woken Sara or if they had she wasn’t letting on. They shifted their weight from holding their pose frozen to sneaking onwards, to the front door.

The night before Five had thoroughly cleaned their running shoes and they sent a brief prayer somewhere skywards that they’d dried by now. Usually Five just ran until the mud dried and flaked off by itself, but this had been a special case. The countryside was always muddy, but yesterday Five and Simon had needed to slog through a reservoir-turned-marsh to circle around a bus load of undead cub scouts. It turned out that there was a cattle farm close by and without anyone to maintain the reservoir’s banks the slurry that slid down the hill from the farm had mixed with the swampy mud. It was a disaster of a run saved only by the sheer range and quantity of cow puns Simon had managed to produce whist intermittently cussing up and down.

With a huff of satisfaction, Five pulled on their trainers and found them mostly dry and only faintly smelling of manure. They’d have to thank Evan later for the tip about baking soda. Apparently it absorbed more than just sweat-smells.

Laces tied tight, Five slipped out into the bracing chill of the pre-dawn and set off towards the township wall, not looking back to meet the stare they could feel on their back.

-

After only about ten minutes Runner Five was feeling far more themselves than they had earlier. The wind on their cheeks, silenced in the barracks by thick concrete, blasted away unwanted thoughts and sobered them up, giving them back control over their own head.

As they ran the interior perimeter of the wall they allowed their mind to wander, but not stick. Not really thinking of anything except the slowly greying sky and waving back at the figures patrolling the top of the wall as they passed them by. It was little wonder that Simon saw Five before they saw him.

It was approaching six when Simon slumped against the side of the radio shack, running a hand through his hair and wishing he’d stayed asleep. The township was too quiet in the early morning. At night there was chatter and sometimes hushed laughter and always someone quietly crying. Come sunrise there would be a greater din as people rose from their beds, the patrols changed over, and those on kitchen duty set about clattering pots and pans and lighting crackling fires to feed them all.

The space in between the sound left too much empty space. There was nothing to distract you from everything you had going on, inside. For a time so empty, Simon found it crushingly claustrophobic.

It was as he was wondering how he was going to kill the next couple of hours before the rest of Abel caught up that he spotted one of his favourite distractions, passing through the space between Ed’s workshop and the armoury. He couldn’t help the grin. Now, what was Runner Five doing out of bed at such an unpleasant hour? They weren’t moving particularly quickly, so Simon concluded they were out for a morning pick-me-up.

He knew Five, like a lot of people nowadays, sometimes woke gasping and clawing at invisible horrors. If it was late still most people had their tipple, or a favourite friend’s bed to crawl into. If it was early the runners tended to go outside and do the same thing they did every day.

Run from their problems.

There was only one appropriate course of comfort in Simon’s mind, and so he shrugged off the wall and took off after Five, ducking behind the closest building and running as softly as he could.

If he was right, and Simon knew he was, Five would be following the wall until they got bored of going in one direction and found something more entertaining to do. It was their usual warm-up. If uninterrupted they may end up clambering through one of the old destroyed outbuildings perhaps, or working through some weight training at the runners’ field just for something to do. Either option would lead to Sam fretting over his runner exhausting themself before they’d even left the gates, and Simon knew Five sometimes did these things on purpose to tease their operator. The worry was fair retribution, Simon thought, for picking favourites.

He waited until Five had turned the next corner and was on a long, straight stretch to shift his pace to a full run. Runner Five stiffened as they picked up on his footsteps, but it was too late to dodge as they turned and saw him but he was already level with them and reaching. Five twisted as best they could but Simon was a practiced ambusher and he had jabbed them hard in the side before they could clear his long reach. Simon had unerringly hit the pressure point in their side and all the breath escaped Five in an indignant gasp as they folded over their abused middle and stumbled, almost meeting the ground with their face.

“Prick!”

Simon cackled high and loud, probably waking a few people up, as he ran from the winded Five, away from the wall and towards the training ground.

“Poor performance, Five! A runner must always be alert to danger,” he called back, glancing over his shoulder.

His grin faltered and he almost tripped over his own feet, eyes startled wide at the sight of Runner Five eating up the distance between them. Simon recovered with a whoop that was inappropriately loud in the pre-dawn and pumped his legs hard, taking off through the medley of mismatched buildings. Runner Five kicked off the hard earth in a hairpin turn and chased him through the gloom.

“Recovered in record time, Five!”

Sometimes the runners raced like this when they were out together, and more often than not it was Simon and Five, again, much to the frustration of Sam. He mostly blamed Simon, for endangering their lives more than necessary, and in fairness it was mostly Simon’s fault. He was usually the initiator. It was always ‘race you to the drop point, Five’ or ‘I bet I can climb that faster than you’ and ‘hey Five, last one back to Abel is a rotten zombie’.

Five, for their part, was technically speaking the worst offender because when they wanted to provoke Simon into racing them they would shove or prod him in the sensitive spot next to his spine, out of sight of their headcams and generally shirked all blame with a sly smile.

It was early still, and he was stressed, which was how Simon later justified to himself how he forgot the fact that Runner Five was faster than him. This forgetfulness hit him as he reached the training ground in the form of Five slamming into him from behind, sending them both tumbling with a spray of loose sand. Laying in the grit trying to breathe, Simon realised that Five must have waited until they got to the sparring area before striking. They had bided their time until they reached terrain that wasn’t solid-packed dirt or concrete so that neither of them were hurt. Which meant Five could have caught up to him at any point if they’d wanted to. The wound this put in his pride was worse than any grazed knee or bashed elbow.

As such, Simon responded in the only way he knew how. With escalation.

“Five,” he wheezed from beneath where the other runner’s entire weight sat on his ribcage, shifting his hands under him. “If you wanted me on my back you only had to ask!”

“Ew.”

“Come now, don’t be like that. You could use a change in perspective, I think,” Simon said and beneath them he felt Five tense just before he lurched upwards and spun in the sand, launching Five from their perch on his back face-first into the sand where they rolled, sputtering and spitting sand.

Simon met Five’s eyes, gleeful and livid, and in the next moment they were both on their feet, circling each other.

Generally, in the semi-formal runner training Evan enforced, the two were never pitted against each other in hand-to-hand. Their Head of Runners had something against it, several reasons and not least (he would tell them) was that they spent enough time _out_ of training roughing each other up with play fighting and shoving matches. Childish squabbling, as he called it, had no place in survival training.

Simon laughed and Five raised their eyebrows.

“Come on, then,” Five laughed, spreading their arms wide in the universal gesture of _bring it_.

There was a heartbeat of nothing before Simon darted forward with a savage grin and the two met in the middle of the circle they’d drawn in the sand with about as much finesse as there was any of their tussles.

Five ducked low, reaching to wrap their arms around Simon’s waist and throw him but he grabbed their left forearm and folded it toward them as he moved his whole body into a shove that sent Five skidding a foot backwards before they caught themself and braced. Simon reached with his other hand to pull them into a lock as Five jerked back and away, twisting to break his hold because Five was strong but this close and sloppy neither of them could be sure who was the strongest.

Free for a half second, Five darted past an open palm Simon sent towards their shoulder and hooked their right foot around Simon’s knee, they yanked backwards but they’d tried too many times in the past to trip Simon for him to lose his balance for more than an instant before he spun and replanted himself firmer than before.

There was a second where there was cool air between them and then there was none as they clashed, Five’s arms reaching low for a second attempt at a different throw and Simon locking his hands around their shoulders to counter. For a moment there was deadlock, then their balance shifted and Five found themselves on the losing end. They turned in the vice of Simon’s arms, built solid from too many hours rebuilding the town and working out when there was nothing else to do for them to escape, and now their back was pressed against his front and one of Simon’s arms held theirs still as he swept their legs from under them.

Five kicked out but found no leverage in the sand while Simon completed the hold, one of Five’s arms locked painfully between where his left arm clamped theirs and their right elbow to the side of their body. His right arm banded awkwardly over Five’s face, holding their right wrist in place in a chokehold modified so as to not actually strangle them.

For a moment Five struggled, seeking a weak point in the hold or leverage to tip Simon onto his back, but the leg he had wrapped around one of Five’s meant that he was effectively holding most of their bodyweight off of the ground. They were all but helpless.

Five stopped struggling. It pained them to give up, but hey. They couldn’t win all of them even if they won most. Wiggling their hands, Five tried to work out how to tap out if both their hands were restrained.

“Given up already, Five?” Simon laughed, completely out of breath and slightly muffled by how his face was pressed into the back of Five’s neck but still preening in victory. “You’ve given up the day to me already and the sun’s barely up.”

It occurred to Five then that, actually, they could win all of them, and also screw Simon.

There wasn’t any thought beyond that when Five opened their mouth against where Simon’s arm was wrapped around their face and bit down on the muscle. Hard.

Simon had been starting to say something else but his voice cut off mid-laugh with a wavering hitch and Five felt a rush of vindictive satisfaction in the half beat between when Simon stopped breathing and when all the air in his lungs escaped in a heady, uncontrolled moan that rushed hot over the back of Runner Five’s neck.

All the blood that had been racing through their veins rushed to Five’s face at how utterly filthy Simon sounded, how his arms tightened around them almost to the point of pain, and just how close they were pressed together. This was perhaps the most compromising position Five had been in since they’d fallen from that helicopter and it was with _Simon_.

A second or few passed before Simon realised first what had happened, then that he was still holding Five trapped flush against him while breathing hard against their neck. He dropped the hold completely, stumbling back with his arms raised in the air. He had no idea what to do with his hands. His mind had gone blank. First with white hot pleasure, now in panic.

Had he really just done that? In front of Five? _Because of Five, in front of Five?_

If the time could stop now, Simon thought, that would be just great. Fantastic. But no, it marched on as Five swivelled awkwardly where they’d fallen into a pile in the sand and looked up at him, face red and eyes wide.

It turned out the answer was a horrible, horrible yes. He had just done that, in front of Five, because of Five.

Simon blinked rapidly down at them, pupils blown wide as he tried to think up a perfect way to shrug off something that was too real to play off as a joke. Oh God, far too real to play off as a joke. Sometimes wrestling got intense so to speak but this was something else. He opened his mouth and raised a hand as if about to speak, not sure what was actually going to come out, when a chuckle rang out loud in the silence.

Sara was standing at the edge of the sandy sparring area, hand covering what was sure to be the most shit-eating grin Simon had ever been subjected to. He didn’t need to see it, it was in her eyes.  Her all-seeing, all-judging eyes. She’d seen. She’d _heard_ , worst of all. As if it wasn’t impossible enough to attempt damage control with Five, he couldn’t convince Sara that was anything other than what it was.

His eyes canted back to Five of their own accord and Simon cursed himself because it didn’t help. They were still sprawled on the ground, face flushed and sweaty which should have looked ridiculous but their eyes were lit up in humour as they tried to tamp down their grin by biting their lower lip and it was entirely unfair. Simon was done. The day was Five’s. It belonged to them because this was not something Simon was capable of dealing with in that moment with Five looking like that, with the memory of bodies and biting still so fresh they burned in his mind.

“Simon-” Five began, only for Simon to break the moment with a frantic artificial laugh.

“Ah, well, um. I just remembered that I’m needed, elsewhere, twenty minutes ago. Very important. See you,” Simon paused to swallow down the thickness in his throat, “later.”

Then he began backing away, before turning about and fleeing towards the quad.

“No need to stop on my account,” Sara called after his retreating back, voice rich with amusement. “It looked like at least one of you was having a grand old time.”

Five stood to watch Simon vanish, sand sliding off them. Sara’s mirth carried across the open field and was joined by Five’s quiet laughter as the sun’s first rays finally broke over the horizon. There were a few hours before Five’s first scheduled run, which was plenty of time to come up with ways to torment their scheduled partner, Runner 3, for its whole duration.


End file.
